Touch The Skies
by Whispers Of A Mad God
Summary: Ash was going to make this Magikarp a champion or die trying. (Flying-Specialist!Fem!Ash. Kanto/Johto.)
1. 0-1 All According To Plan

_And now, for something a little different..._

* * *

 **Touch The Skies**

* * *

 **Hatchling Arc (0-1)**

 **All According To Plan**

* * *

 _"Strong pokémon, weak pokémon, that is only the foolish perception of people._

 _Truly skilled trainers should try to win with their favorites."_

 _\- Karen of the Johto Elite Four._

* * *

 **For** all that the screen is no larger than my two hands splayed side-by-side, streaked through with hair-thin scratches and prone to flashes of static whenever the storm above Pallet Town unleashes a bolt of lightning, I can't tear my eyes away. Darkrai himself could come to Kanto, trailing apocalypse and death in his wake, and my hyper-focus wouldn't break. I'm enthralled. My eyes are wide and unblinking, and my entire body is tense but almost deathly still, like a caterpie caught in the grasp of a hypno.

How could I not be? The Silver Conference is the single greatest tournament in all of Johto. Trainers from all across the world devote their entire lives to tracking down rare and powerful pokémon, raising them into powerful beasts to do battle with, and then conquering eight of the strongest league trainers in the region with them, for the sole privilege of competing in it. Hundreds of the best and brightest flock to it in the hopes of achieving five minutes of fame, and hundreds of thousands do the same just to cheer them on.

And some no-name trainer from Ecruteak is sweeping the entire thing.

 _"You're the last one, Umbreon,"_ the proud figure on the teevee is saying, the soft words cutting through the roar of the crowd with ease. In that moment, she looks like she could hold up the sky itself with nothing but her own two hands. _"Show him our power!"_

She kisses the black-and-blue moon ball's release, and arcs it into the air with a graceful flick. Umbreon manifests in a brilliant plume of crimson light, and stares down the mammoth rhyperior with a disdainful huff. He turns around and looks up at his trainer with exasperated eyes, as if to ask, _"Do I have to?",_ and his trainer just smiles.

 _"For me, dear?"_ she asks, and Umbreon melts. I melt with him.

Karen is beautiful, confident, and strong. I had never looked into the face of perfection before, but I think Karen just might be it. The way her hair catches on the wind kicked up by her team's Dark Pulses, the little smile she wears whenever her opponent falls to their knees in defeat, the adoration that shines in the eyes of her pokémon during her infrequent interviews-

I had skipped class with Gary and Leaf every day this past week for the sole purpose of watching her battles. I had printed out a super-sized picture of Karen and her team just so I could pin it up on my wall, had begged my mother for a honchkrow plushie I could fall asleep cuddling, had even considered asking Professor Oak if I could have an eevee for a starter instead - though Karen's own words had convinced me not to. My dream is still to be a pokémon master, but Karen had taken Champion Lance's place in my idle fantasies of glory and prestige, without me even noticing.

I'm going to defeat Karen one day, I know. I know it like I know the sun will rise, or like Professor Oak knows Arcanine. It's simple fact. I don't believe in fate, but I know that victory is in my future - I just need to reach out and _take_ it. It might take my entire lifetime, but I'm going to make it happen.

 _"Begin!"_ the announcer screams out, and Umbreon blurs into motion.

I don't get any sleep, that night.

* * *

 **Sixteen Months Later…**

 **"Stupid** old man," I hiss, furiously wiping at the tears trickling from the corners of my eyes. I'm not crying. Karen didn't cry when Lance demolished her entire elite four-slaying team with a single pokémon, and I'm not going to, either. I've just got something in my eyes, is all. Both of them. "Stupid, stupid, stupid… I don't need a stupid starter pokémon, anyway…"

I had showed up to the Corral thirty minutes early, but as there was a mix-up in the notification emails, that was still thirty minutes after the other Pallet Town rookies had left with starter pokémon in tow. Oak - not the professor, I'll never call him such a respectful title again - had greeted me with a sorry expression and shifty eyes, and told me that he had already given away all three pokémon.

I didn't understand how that was possible. Still don't, actually. Oak had known there are four prospective trainers in Pallet, and I had told him an entire year ahead of time that I wanted, want, a charmander of my own.

I had taken Karen's advice to win with my favorites to heart, and decided that I want a pokémon I can fly with - a pokémon I can touch the skies with. I had dedicated the entire past year to researching a charmander's dietary needs, recommended exercise regimens, and most common likes and dislikes and dreams… I had even drawn up a list of nicknames it might prefer. It is over three hundred lines long.

Correction, _was._ I had torn it apart and thrown the shreds in a river.

To his credit, Oak had admitted to his mistake, and began to tell me about another pokémon I could have as a replacement starter. I hadn't listened - I don't want his pity. By the time he mentioned off-hand that he found the mouse chewing on his power cables, I had already been out the door and down the road to Viridian, alone and afraid.

It's not fair. _It's not fair._ Gary got _two_ starters - I know, the jerk was bragging about it all last week, apparently Oak's very own arcanine had sired some children and Gary was slated to get one of the babies - and I was supposed to be _happy_ to get some delinquent wilder of a rat? Arceus, if it was found chewing on power cables, it probably had pokémon rabies or something. That can't be healthy for a rattata, or whatever stupid species he had so kindly procured for me.

"Stupid old man…"

All I want is to touch the sky. Charizard is the only pokémon this side of Cerulean that can. Fearow aren't strong enough for it, though a rider might manage it for a couple of hours a week until the beak pokémon's bones start to break down. A pidgeot could probably do it, too, if it's trained right, but everyone knows it's impossible to catch a prideful pidgey without beating it into the ground first - and how can I do such a thing without a pokémon?

Wonderful. I need a pokémon to catch a pokémon. I could probably manage it - maybe if I caught a nidoran or something to poison it? No one said I have to train _every_ pokémon I catch - but I only brought one pokéball. I'm not Gary, I don't have a rich grandfather to buy me a car or a case of evolutionary stones or a dozen spare pokéballs, and I had blown all of my money on worthless charmander food.

…Why am I even carrying it all around? There are no fire-types in Route One, and no other pokémon could eat a charmander's treats without combusting. I had almost forgotten, considering the bag is so… light…

My heart skips a beat, and I freeze for a moment. Then, growing more and more frantic with every passing moment, I throw my messenger bag to the floor and riffle through it, only to give up with a desperate wail. Choking down a scream, I pull out the box of charmander treats and violently hurl it at the nearest oak tree.

I clutch my cheeks between my hands and try not to cry. I cry anyway.

"I… I forgot… I was gonna swing by home so I could show off my charmander… all I brought were the ball and the treats…" My mother had always said 'the easiest way to a man's heart is through his stomach' - I assume the same principle applies to pokémon. Men are a lot like pokémon, after all, and vice versa. They're just as _stupid._

I look up and around, realizing with a rush of anxiety that I have no idea where I am. I must have wandered off the path when I was throwing myself a one-woman pity party.

The routes surrounding Pallet are famous for having a small range of relatively weak pokémon. Due to the migratory habits of bird, rat, and most bug pokémon, a wealth of eggs are left behind on the strip of land both north and south of Viridian City. Pokémon are naturally more vicious during the mating season, and the mothers of these eggs make sure to scour the land of any other pokémon that may be a threat to their offspring. It's because of this phenomenon that the league year begins when it does - and why rookie trainers the region over are encouraged to begin their journeys from the Indigo Plateau, just west of Viridian.

That being said, all of those trainers are given starter pokémon to protect themselves with. The children of Oak's associates are given one of the elemental three, and I've heard that children in Viridian are given tauros or rhyhorn while those in Cinnabar either vulpix or growlithe. Even utterly untrained, all of these pokémon are raised from birth to be naturally docile, strong, and enduring.

There's not a one among them that can't fight off a flock of spearow, which the league ensures is the single greatest threat in a hundred miles of the Plateau. It's a time-honored tradition.

A time-honored tradition that Oak took a long piss on, of course, and that means jack-all for my chances of survival.

A flock of spearow would slaughter me with ease and feast on my bone marrow, after all. I wouldn't stand a chance.

…

Clutching my late father's shard necklace with white fingers, I whisper aloud, "Alakazam? Alakazam, I'm sorry. I'd like to go home, now."

Oak's trusted psychic doesn't respond.

* * *

 **Clouds** grasp onto the sky with smoky tendrils, spreading farther and farther with every passing gust of wind and twirling into arcane shapes as they do. Great trees rise from the earth like an army's lances, primed to stab into the oncoming storm, trembling all the while - as if in fear. There's an echoing song rising from the leafy sheathes, like the battle cry of a hundred thousand soldiers, and I can see crimson eyes in their shadowy depths. They can see me, too.

I shiver once, twice, thrice. My red-laced white jacket was designed with humid mornings in mind, not the freezing bite of a wild forest with no shelter in sight. At least I hadn't taken my cue from the significantly more fashionable Leaf and chosen a skirt - I'd probably die.

…Not that I'm necessarily safe from that fate, mind. I had thought that memorizing several subtly different maps of Kanto would have idiot-proofed my fledgling sense of direction, but I had gotten lost on Route One on the first freaking day. The sprawling cloud cover handily prevents me from locating the setting sun or the north star, and the gargantuan trees block off any attempt at spotting Mount Moon or even Silver. When I'm lucky, I might catch a whiff of the ocean to the south, but the storm has confused the winds to such an extent I'd sooner find myself in the Trio Cave then the peaceful coastline connecting Kanto to Johto.

I gave up on contacting Alakazam several hours ago. I'd try to call my mother or even Oak the mundane way, but telecommunication devices smaller than the arrays at a pokécenter are incredibly expensive - researchers down in Johto have been pushing the pokégear's release back every six months or so for a decade now, and only the rich and the elite have a StoneCo pokénavigator. There are just too many electric- and steel-type pokémon in the world screwing around with electromagnetism for cheap, reliable cellular phones to be practical.

 _Gary_ has a pokénav, of course, but I am just as wroth with him as I am his grandfather. He had taken off down Route One in a sleek new car long before I found out my chosen starter had been… misplaced. If he had been a better friend, I wouldn't be curled up against a tree in the middle of the woods at night, with no shelter, no food, and no pokémon.

(…Rationally, I know it's not Gary's fault. But my anger keeps me warm, and I'd kill for some more warmth. Besides - I can't cry when I'm mad, and I'm sick of crying.)

The vaunted journey of self-discovery I'd been preparing for my entire life has literally gone wrong in every conceivable way, but so what? It can only go up from here. …Unless I wake up a spearow flock and suffer a death of a thousand bites, in which case it can go very, very down very, very fast, but I'm too cute to get murderized. My mother told me so.

But. But! I still have the clothes on my back and an empty pokéball. If Karen were in this situation, she'd pull through, wouldn't she? And if Karen can, so can I!

"Chin up, Ash," I mutter, stumbling to my feet and rubbing my arms together in a futile bid for more warmth. A long, feather-soft blade of grass snakes up my pant leg and gives me a tickle, and I jump back with a startled squeak. Growling like a baby glameow and stomping on it, I give a low, restrained giggle, saying, "See, you're already defeating the grass. Keep goin' at this rate, and you'll be takin' on Umbreon in no time."

For all my bravado, I reach into my red-on-white messenger bag and nervously palm the single item still held within - the only pokéball I own. I'd decorated its surface with an intricate, heavily-stylized feather knot design last night, in anticipation of using my charmander to catch me a pidgey.

Considering the kind of day I've been having, I'm not surprised when the skies open up and pour rain on me, smearing the sharpie ink across my palm in the process. I just smile thinly. Without a pokéball for my charmander to place in the same bag, it's not like the purpose behind the art - so I don't mix up my friends - matters, anymore.

"…What's with all the maudlin thought?" I berate myself aloud, inwardly hoping I don't scare off any kind, prospective pokémon with the crazy vibe I'm radiating right now. "My pidgey is probably up a tree right now, havin' fallen asleep while it was waitin' for me to catch it. I'll just… I'll just climb a tree… and catch the first sleepin' pokémon I cross."

The entire reason I was planning to torch the pidgey a time or two before catching it was so it would be too tired to resist the capture, right? By that logic, a sleeping pokémon wouldn't put up any resistance at all, right? Right!

"This is a great idea."

* * *

 **"This** was a _stupid_ idea! Stupid, stupid, _stupid…"_

A great, blood-chilling shriek rents the air, and I narrowly evade a spearow's full-body Quick Attack-cum-Take Down. I'd call it a rare variant of Brave Bird, but it was missing the Tailwind-esque wind shadow - _oh shit spearow dodge dodge dodge-_

The thick, salty scent of the sea strikes me like a battering ram, and I have a moment of clarity. If I make it to the coast, I can dive into the water and hold my breath. The storm's currents might sweep me away, but if I swim down, grabs onto the cliff side, and try not to piss off any shellder, I just might outlast the annoyed birds.

Then a third spearow strikes me like an actual battering ram.

I have never felt pain before. …That's not quite true; I've suffered my fair share of roughhousing bruises, schoolyard papercuts, and even a broken ankle from the time I had aggressively pet a freshly-caught mightyena I found at the Corral. I thought I was prepared for the life of a trainer and that, should I ever be struck by a pokémon, I'd be able to stiffen my upper lip and be strong for my team.

This isn't the first time today that I've realized that I'm not at all prepared for the life of a pokémon trainer. This isn't even the first time today that that realization was accompanied by a sinking feeling in my heart and far too many tears.

It is, however, the first time that it makes me _furious._

"Hey, fuck you!" I scream at the surprised and offended spearow, using the new word I learned from Gary last month. I'm not sure what it means, but it seems to be super-effective against the proud creature, so I make a mental note to use it again in the near future. "You're not the only one having a less-than- _stellar_ night, y' know? Don't you think _I'd_ prefer to be comfy and asleep right now, too? Huh? Well, _do_ ya!?"

The spearow then immediately wins the argument by unleashing a loud, keening caw, summoning forth the rest of its flock. In less than three seconds, there are nearly thirty of the cruel hawks darting through the foliage and sharpening their gleaming beaks on their crest feathers and staring at me with their horrible, horrible eyes, and-

I tumble to my feet and keep running.

…

I reach the beach in five minutes. I'm not sure if it feels like five seconds or five eternities - all I know is it's too long, either way.

It's a miracle. My survival, that is. I've read the reports, I know how territorial Kanto's most prevalent bird pokémon can be. They're usually smart enough to refrain from harming humans, most knowing that the League will crack down on them if a child trainer's corpse is ever found, but it _has_ happened and always directly after said stupid, stupid trainer worked them into a frenzy - by, say, wandering into their territory, waking them up during a thunderstorm, and then screaming at them in anger.

The fearow leading the pack is highly intelligent; I can see it in his black, beady eyes. Maybe I'm not as great at evasion as I like to think I am, and the spearow are merely pretending to attack me so I'll keep up the pace and vacate their territory. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Fearow are known for playing with their food, and chasing their midnight snack to the coast so it'll be caught between an ocean and a, well, a flock of spearow and fearow sounds just like them.

It doesn't matter to me, anymore. I don't just want to survive today - I want to _win_ today, I want to be able to look back on today and say, "Do you see that? I _conquered."_ I'm a trainer, and trainers capture pokémon - not the other way around. I might not have my charmander, or my emergency supply of potion, or that bottle of max repel my mother forced me to buy, but what I do have is a pokéball; and, really, isn't that all a truly skilled trainer needs? (It's all Karen would need.)

I can't use it on any of the spearow - even if it works when they're as pumped full of power and adrenaline as they are, a single spearow can't beat back the flock. I can't use it on the sole fearow, either - if it wouldn't work on an annoyed pidgey, it's not going to work on a downright _hateful_ fearow. I might end up trying it anyway, as a distraction or a last-ditch, might-as-well gambit, but I have a bigger fish in mind.

That is to say, a fish.

I reach the beach in five minutes, after all. That's a very long time for a fish pokémon to hear strange noises approaching its home and decide to investigate.

It erupts from the coastline in a great plume of vapor and reflected starlight, and I throw the pokéball at it in sheer reflex, more out of surprise than because of my great plan. As the mystery creature vanishes in a blaze of crimson light and the very world seems to still, I'm not sure if I threw the device with the intent to capture or in hopes of bludgeoning it to death as blunt, metal objects are wont to do.

But I'd spent entire days dreaming about this experience, and half as long practicing with the pokéball's in-built homing technology. I flick my wrist and the pokéball containing my newest (and currently, only) friend zips through the air and into my palm with a heavy snap. It shakes in my hand once, twice, and I have a horrible premonition of a seaking materializing at point-blank range with a horn speared through my heart, before it stills with a satisfied click.

I have all of a moment to appreciate my new friend before the same asshole spearow from before knocks me over with its improvised Brave Bird.

I shriek in surprise, and hurl the freshly-filled pokéball at the reeling spearow where it fulfills its second utility by bludgeoning the hawk across the skull. It then snaps open in an increasingly-familiar flare of incandescent light, materializing a heavy, flailing fish directly on top of the dazed spearow. Needless to say, it is immediately knocked out.

"Magi-karp?" the garish red fish bleats uncertainly, looking around with a clueless look on its face.

And then the world freezes over.

* * *

 **"…And** then you showed up, and were all like, 'Blizzard, Starmie! Follow with Thunderbolt!,' and you know the rest."

"That was very… detailed. Thank you." Misty Waterflower, youngest and coolest of the Cerulean Gym's Sensational Sisters, stares at me with a strange look on her face. "What I fail to understand is why you thought you were capable of handling an entire flock of spearow - complete with fearow! - with naught but a magikarp."

"In my defense, I thought it was a goldeen." I pause. "That… sounded a lot better in my head."

"I'm sure."

I get the acute feeling that my third-favorite Kanto Gym Leader is less than impressed with me, right now. I wilt like an oddish in the Unovan desert.

Of course, Misty isn't my third-favorite Gym Leader, anymore. 'Dramatic rescue when all hopes seem lost' is right up there with 'synthesizes pokérus' and 'kinda looks like Karen if you squint and turn your head, maybe' on the list of things that makes me like someone. That pushes her neatly in front of Sabrina on my People I'd Like to Befriend list, whom is behind only Agatha of the Elite Four, Steven Stone, and, of course, Karen.

My new-found reverence for the youngest Waterflower is only compounded by how kindly the more experienced trainer had asked if I had somewhere to sleep.

Thirty minutes, a recalled and slightly less confused magikarp, an awkward autograph on said magikarp's pokéball, a much more relaxing jaunt through the forest, and an incredibly detailed depiction of my life's story later, Misty is far more caught up than she probably had any desire to be. That being said, not every aspect of my story makes sense when combed through by a far more clear-headed mind.

"Okay, one more thing I don't quite get." Misty traces a comb through her fiery red hair, eyes glazed in thought, absently beckoning a bored-looking staryu to refill the pot above the campfire with water. I try not to fidget, and fidget anyway - I feel awkward and uncomfortable and ten kinds of out of place, dressed in pants soaked in saltwater and a muddied jacket that was probably white once, clutching a pokéball like one would the secret to immortality and trying not to gape at the slowly spinning starmie that maybe-kinda-sorta saved my life.

This is not what I had in mind when I set out for Oak's, this morning. Arceus, my mother must be terrified. I certainly am, still, and I don't expect a full night's rest for another month, at least.

"Professor Samuel Oak is _the_ pokémon researcher. I could walk up to any random Sally in any random region in the hemisphere and say, 'Hey, that pokémon scientist guy just discovered something crazy!', and nine times out of ten that person will say, 'Oh, you mean Professor Oak? What'd he find out _this_ time?'

"Not getting a trainer under his care a starter she asked for an entire year in advance isn't just negligent, especially when that trainer runs away from civilization without protection and isn't immediately tracked down by his arcanine - who are the greatest pokémon trackers in the world - or his alakazam - who can teleport across continents and speak to someone across the world; no, it's _incredibly, criminally negligent._ That sounds like something Professor Elm would do, not Oak. I mean, sure, the guy can be absent-minded at times, but it just… I don't know. It doesn't sound like him, is all I'm saying. I think we're missing something."

"It seems pretty clear to me," I huff, still hurt and upset and trying to bury it under righteous indignation. "He got his grandson two starters and a corvette, and was trying to pass off a rattata he found chewing on power cables or something to me. Sounds like he had better things on his mind."

Misty purses her lips. It's clear to me that she doesn't buy it, but doesn't say anything. For that, I will be forever grateful.

"…Can you teach me how to train a magikarp?" I eventually ask, half out of necessary need and half out of a simple desire to talk about something brighter. "I, ah, hadn't expected to catch one."

"Yeah, it's no problem." Misty reaches elbow deep into a pouch smaller than her closed fist and pulls out a spare change of clothes in a flash of brilliant red light. My eyes shine; league-affiliated trainers really do get all the best toys. "The gym has a gyarados we use against trainers with seven or eight gym badges. I hate the thing with a burning passion and will ask that you make sure I am _far_ away before you evolve that fish of yours, but I can teach you how to care for it, easy. I've got some clothing you can borrow, just take the pot of boiled water and clean up a bit first, alright? We look about the same size; it should be fine."

I had increasingly felt like Atlas with the sky on my shoulders ever since I ran away from - _vacated_ Pallet Town. After hearing Misty's casually confident declaration and seeing the extremely powerful starmie keep watch over the camp, though… now, I'm just holding up a small mountain. I can deal.

Only up from here, right? Only up from here.

I accept the pile of cloth a moment later and smile ruefully. "Aah… Thanks."

I'm not talking about the clothes.

* * *

 **Alakazam** teleports into the tent in the middle of the night. We react as well as can be reasonably expected.

 _"…This isn't quite what I thought I'd see,"_ he thinks into our heads awkwardly, sidestepping the Ice Beam and falling magikarp with insulting ease. He disappears and promptly reappears with a stack of clothing, a white hat, potion, repel, wilderness supplies, training guidebooks, three separate maps, a notebook and pen, and a strange, rectangular computer no larger than my closed fist and painted a garish red. He then pauses, cocks his head, and pulls his teleporting trick again, reappearing with a small canister that seems to be filled with candy.

I recall my slowly-asphyxiating fish and just, sort of… stare. Did Alakazam just break into my house?

 _"I apologize on behalf of my master, Miss Ashlynn,"_ he continues casually, absent-mindedly waving a hand to disintegrate the starmie's Bubblebeam and send the valiant pokémon to sleep. Misty doesn't send out another. _"In his defense, he has a very compelling reason for refraining from procuring your desired starter pokémon, lying about it, and then allowing you to wander off into the woods… without… protection…"_ He pauses. Tilting his head to the side like a puppy would, he stares off into space and blinks. _"Never mind, the reason isn't very compelling."_

I cover my eyes with a forearm and begin to shake. With laughter or disbelief, I'm not quite sure. Alakazam has always been my favorite of Oak's pokémon.

 _"My master has forbidden me from speaking of the following things, but as I am incapable of conventional speech, I will merely think of them very loudly and in your general direction."_ He begins inspecting the spoon held in his right hand - or, perhaps, his reflection in the flawlessly polished silver. If I don't know better, I might think he's already forgotten about my presence completely. _"When my master was a young boy, he was caught up in an incident with a celebi. A malicious trainer in the employ of Team Rocket was attempting to capture the legend in a specialized pokéball designed to torture those within into mindless obedience and rage. Naturally, both my master and the celebi took exception to this. Long story short, through perseverance, quite a few displays of blind faith, no small amount of skill, and a powerful trainer from the future called Ash Ketchum, the day was saved and the villain, slain. I'm sure anyone uncouth enough to eavesdrop on my very private thoughts can divine the rest of the tale themselves."_

"…Hypothetically speaking," I begin, speaking slowly, "If a powerful trainer from the future had a certain mouse as a starter pokémon, and not a certain flying, fire-breathing lizard…"

 _"My, my, I wonder how a paradox would affect dear, dear Kanto. Maybe it'd be sucked into a singularity and explode, or simply cease to be - or have never been at all. What a tragedy that'd be…"_ Alakazam switches his focus from one spoon to the next. He then begins making faces at his reflection, not bothering to affect solemnity beyond the mockery. _"Why, it sounds like just the thing to have a celebi, a Guardian of Time, show up to correct things. When no such legend shows up, one might think that they are too busy doing other things and can't make the time. Naturally, the only reasonable recourse one could come to if such a thing were to happen is to fix things one's self. What a very arrogant thing to do. It's a good thing no master of mine would be so foolish."_

"You know, Misty," I begin, as if making chit chat. "I like flying-type pokémon. I like flying-type pokémon a lot. One might even say that flying-type pokémon are my favorites. I'm going to grow up with my starter flying-type pokémon, make a lot of friends with flying-type pokémon, impress my personal hero Karen with my flying-type pokémon, conquer a league or three with my flying-type pokémon, become a master of flying-type pokémon, and then settle down with my flying-type pokémon to open up a gym specializing in flying-type pokémon. When I grow old, I'm going to die riding my flying-type pokémon.

"On a completely unrelated note, do you know what is not a flying-type pokémon?"

"No?" Misty states.

"Rattata."

 _"Pikachu."_

"Pikachu."

"Ah, I know that," she says. "I saw a pikachu once. I noticed the most curious thing. It didn't have any wings."

"How strange. What kind of flying-type pokémon doesn't have wings? Could it levitate, maybe?"

"No, it couldn't."

"Baffling." I manage to almost sound confused.

"Most."

 _"This conversation has been scintillating, and all,"_ Alakazam cuts in. _"But I much prefer to sleep for twenty-three hours a day, and though it's not yet three o' clock in the morning, I have already been awake for an entire half hour. I do believe I am going to return to my master's home and go back to being utterly useless for a while. Oh, how I miss it."_

"You do that, Alakazam. Reminds me of when you used to babysit me and what's-his-face, Gary."

 _"I recall those years far differently than you, Miss Ashlynn."_ He casually warps space, and is soon levitating a scrapbook of- No. He wouldn't. _"In fact, I have photographic evidence."_

"…Don't you have sleeping to get back to?"

 _"Yes. I do."_ Even with a completely alien physiology, a frozen, unmoving face, and a telepathic monotone utterly devoid of inflection, I can't mistake that smug superiority anywhere. It's endemic in the Oak line - even among their pokémon, apparently. _"Back to more serious matters for a moment, if you'll forgive me. Please, do not think too poorly of my master. He has drank from the river of success for far too long, and has forgotten the taste of defeat. He meant well."_

I swallow thickly. I want to forgive Oak - the professor. I really, really want to. My mother didn't raise me to hold a grudge, and I know how unhappy Gary became after he formed one over Daisy's seeming abandonment. I love him like a brother, but I hate how shallow, petty, and spiteful he has become from it. I don't want to turn out like that, too.

And yet… _And yet…_

"…That depends." I snag the corner of my lip with a sharp tooth. "Does he have my charmander?"

A telepathic link projects more than just thought, and I reel under a sudden feeling of sorrow, regret, and exhaustion. Blink and I'll miss it - it disappears before I can consciously realize what happened. _"I'll inform Miss Delia of her daughter's continuing survival. She'll probably ask me to remind you to change your underwear."_ A pause. _"Oh, and don't eat the vitamins, they'll probably kill you."_

He waves a spoon in a happy mimicry of a wave good-bye. _"Toodles."_

Alakazam is gone. Misty just sighs.

"You're going to drag me into all sorts of weird situations, aren't you?"

"Haa… probably."

…

I'm still angry - no, _furious,_ but…

…When I fall asleep again…

I have much more pleasant dreams.

* * *

 **End of Chapter One**

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _I won't be including any polls or reader input in this story, but I adore reviews and treasure every one of them - if you'd like to see Ash catch a certain flying pokémon (not necessarily flying-type, mind), if there's a character in the source material that you feel is underutilized and would like to see, or even if you just want to give your support, please feel free to drop a review. Who knows, maybe it'll inspire me._


	2. 0-2 All Will Be Well

_Pokémon Go has consumed my life… send help…_

* * *

 **Touch The Skies**

* * *

 **Hatchling Arc (0-2)**

 **All Will Be Well**

* * *

 _"Strong Pokémon, weak Pokémon, that is only the foolish perception of people._

 _Truly skilled trainers should try to win with their favorites."_

 _\- Karen of the Johto Elite Four._

* * *

 **I** am increasingly coming to believe that Misty is some kind of demigod.

"No, no, I get it," I tell her, flailing my hands in a helpless warding gesture. I send sand flying as I awkwardly shuffle my feet. "You're a very good swimmer. _Very_ good. It just seems… kind of impossible? To be that fast, I mean."

She just shrugs, a motion that looks exceedingly strange in a bikini top and mid-backstroke. "My sisters are better." The words come out faux-casually, and even I, oblivious as I am, know that they must be painful for her to give voice to. "Things like this aren't exactly uncommon, among… well, the elite. You know how human-trained pokémon are stronger than wilders? It's the same in reverse. Pokémon take after their trainers, and vice versa. Mind, it's mostly subtle stuff: quicker swimming, faster reflexes, higher pain threshold. Keep hanging around flying-types and you might develop claustrophobia. Nothing major, just… it's hard to explain. Did Professor Oak never do anything weird?"

I open my mouth to deny it outright, pause, and close it. "…Now that you mention it, he'd always know when Gary and I snuck around the restricted sections in the Corral. Or we'd turn around and _bam!,_ he's there, when we could've sworn he wasn't. I just kinda assumed he had Alakazam keep an eye on us and teleport him around, or something."

"He's had an arcanine and alakazam for Suicune-only-knows how long, so speed and some minor clairvoyance makes sense. Again, it's nothing major. Rarely noticeable, in most cases, and never anything active. I could spend a couple decades around a ninetales and might develop the patience of a saint, but never breathe fire." She pauses. "Wait, scratch that. Psychic-types kinda break the mold. Do you know about Sabrina?"

"Of course." Everyone knows about Sabrina. She's one of my personal heroes; I don't revere her as much as I do Karen, but, then again, I don't revere anyone as much as I do Karen. Sabrina is still mighty impressive - she's the Saffron City gym leader, the strongest human psychic in the world, is capable of trans-regional telepathy and group teleportation, and has incredibly beautiful hair. If I never become as cool as Karen, I'd settle with being as cool as Sabrina.

Misty comes up from a deep-dive with an empty net in one hand and a disgruntled expression twisting her pretty face. "Yeah, kinda like that, except, you know, not as impressive."

She dives back down with the grace of a… I don't know how to phrase that metaphor without sounding insulting. Most water pokémon are ugly and awkward-looking, honestly. A milotic? Yeah, let's go with that.

Misty takes a few minutes to resurface, right when I'm about to jump in after her in hopes of rescue. "I was raised in the single greatest family of water-type trainers in Kanto, you know?" Three more empty nets join the first one, thrown into a haphazard pile next to me on the beach. "That's not bragging, it's fact. Cerulean gym leadership is a hereditary seat. And you know what I can do?" She doesn't wait for me to answer. "I can hold my breath under water for, like, five minutes."

I giggle. "Oh no, have mercy on us puny commoners, oh goddess of the sea."

"Pssh. Yeah." Misty pulls herself up and onto the raised coastline, sticking wet sand to her fingers in the process. She doesn't seem to notice. "Beware my wrath, human." She sighs. "Four down, forty-six to go. Do you want to help?"

"I would love to and all, but," I tell her sorrowfully, snapping my fingers for effect, "I should really be training that magikarp. You know, somewhere else-ish. Anywhere else-ish, actually."

"You just don't like getting wet."

"…One day, I'm going to have a whole team of powerful flying-types, and I'm going to offer you a ride. Then we'll see who's looking smug."

"Whatever you say, Ash."

I sniff in faux-arrogance, turn around, and walk away. On any other day, I'd say something snappy and try to snag the last word – but the competitive one-upmanship I'd always get up to with Gary seems… wrong, to try with Misty. Maybe it's the saving-my-life thing, maybe it's her vastly superior skill and experience, maybe it's something I can't quite put my finger on. I don't know.

All I _do_ know is that I respect her, deeply and personally, in a way I didn't realize I could feel. It's not my worship for Karen – not quite – but it's similar, in a more leveled, down-to-earth way. I don't know how to put it.

…It doesn't matter, I suppose. She won't be around for long. (Gary wasn't.)

* * *

 **As** it turns out, the funny-looking red box Alakazam left me is a pokédex. An actual, real-life, honest-to-Ho'oh pokédex. I spend approximately five minutes clutching it to my chest and squeeing in delight.

My starter - as far as such things are counted, anyway - materializes a moment later and is promptly scanned.

 _"Magikarp, the Fish Pokémon,"_ it solemnly intones. _"It is virtually worthless in terms of both power and speed. It is the most weak and pathetic pokémon in the world."_

The magikarp begins to wail. I hurriedly switch to Johto's entry.

 _"Magikarp, the Fish Pokémon,"_ it continues. _"An underpowered, pathetic pokémon. For no reason, it jumps and splashes about, making it easy for predators like pidgeotto to catch it mid-jump."_

My magikarp stills, and a dangerous look shines in its eye. I shiver, and accidentally hit the 'next entry' button.

 _"Magikarp, the Fish Pokémon,"_ it says mercilessly. My breath catches, and I desperately search for an off-switch. _"Magikarp is a pathetic excuse for a pokémon that is only capable of flopping and splashing. This behavior prompted scientists to undertake research into it."_

No, shit, that wasn't the 'next entry' button, that was the 'loop' button-

 _"Magikarp, the Fish Pokémon. It is said to be the world's weakest pokémon. No one knows why it has managed to survive. Magikarp, the Fish Pokémon. A magikarp living for many years can leap a mountain using Splash. The move remains useless, though. Magikarp, the Fish Pokémon. In the distant past, it was somewhat stronger than the horribly weak descendants that-"_

Unable to find an off-switch, I shove its speaker against the magikarp's scaly flesh in hopes of muffling it. The fish begins to vibrate, and just stares up at me with its blank, blank eyes.

"Haa, haa…?" I laugh nervously. That thing contains the basic entries from six different world-class professors across as many regions, and they all suck. _You know what, poképrofessors? You suck, too._ I attempt a perky tone of voice and smile down at my little fish. "Let's prove these smug nerds wrong! Right, magikarp?"

"Karp," it deadpans. I don't know how to translate that toneless lack of inflection - is it bored, tired, or plotting my messy death once it evolves?

"Hehe, you're such a joker, magikarp." My voice sounds weak even to myself.

Luckily, the pokédex finally gives in to the inevitable and shuts up, giving me an excuse to leap back and maintain some distance. I fiddle with the buttons, more to give myself a distraction than in any hopes of finding actually useful information.

 _"This magikarp is female and possesses the ability Rattled, which allows it to swim away faster when hit by a Bug-, Ghost-, or Dark-type move."_ The sudden declaration surprises me into squeaking and falling over onto my butt, thus shattering what little remaining positive regard the magikarp may or may not have held for me. _"It is capable of the following moves: Splash."_

"Haa, haa…?" The magikarp fails to react to my stilted laughter, and gives me the most unimpressed look ever given in the history of pokémon. Her moist hide begins to steam in the early morning sunlight, but she doesn't react, just lying there horizontally on the dewy grass, disproportionately small flippers not so much as twitching.

 _Dear Zapdos. Please, strike me down now. Tell Gary I was eaten by a dragonite or something suitably impressive. Thanks, that girl who built a shrine to you in her closet._

…No, no, I'm not giving up now! I can still salvage my reputation. Somehow. What to do, what to do-

 _The vitamins!_

I search for the nearest pond of sufficient depth; after last night's rainstorm, they're all over the place, but most aren't deeper than my magikarp is tall. I'd toss her into the ocean – I had traced the coastline south until I found the spot where I had captured the magikarp, partly out of nostalgia but mostly out of a desire to lay risen ghosts to rest – but I don't want her swept away by any currents. That'd just be all kinds of depressing.

Once I find one, I pick her up with a great, lurching heave, and drop her into it. I narrowly avoid the kicked-up splash of rainwater, squeaking slightly, and dash back to the campsite.

Fifteen minutes later, I return with the small canister Alakazam had given me. The mason jar has a stripe of scotch tape running up one side, the word VITAMINS drawn on it in Oak's familiar chicken-scratch, and a multitude of pills in three separate colors mixed haphazardly within. My grip is careful and my eyes, focused, because the contents of this jar are more expensive then the rest of my belongings combined.

I idly wonder if Alakazam had told his trainer that he had stolen half of the Corral's ridiculously expensive pokémon supplements. _Probably not,_ I realize, and have to stifle my superior smirk.

Good mood restored, I turn to my starter and smile like the sun.

"Okay, magikarp-" I pause. "I can't keep calling you 'magikarp.' That'd be like you calling me 'human,' and that's just sad and dehumanizing and all sorts of stuff I don't want between us. …Well, I guess I could _name_ you Magikarp, and then change the name to Gyarados once you evolve, but that's just so- so- so _uninspired."_

Not to mention, dangerously reckless. For powerful and temperamental pokémon like gyarados especially, establishing a meaningful bond early on is important. There are a countless number of stories online about freshly-evolved gyarados that decide they don't want or need a trainer, and promptly turn on them. It rarely turns out well for the human.

I don't want to be a statistic before I reach that most vaunted milestone of 'survived one whole week.' That'd just be pathetic. Even magikarp have better survival stats then that.

And mom would be sad so, yeah, let's not do that.

"I could call you Skullcruncher Prime or something, but… yeah, I'm not calling you that." Gary would laugh at me, for one. It'd reinforce bad behavior, for two. Mostly, though, it's just a mouthful and 'Prime' doesn't have the same ring to it. "Regal? Vigil? Traverse? Corsair?"

Those were some of the more 'neutral' names on The Charizard Nickname List. I rather like them, but magikarp seems less then enthused.

"No, no, you need something special. Mercy? Because you'll have none? What about Rorschach - because you'll make unidentifiable blots of our enemies! Veto? As in, you know, veto power? Um, um, ooh! Mouser! That refers to animals that catch and sometimes eat mice, you know? And pikachu are mice! Considerin' you're takin' a pikachu's place, according to celebi, it's _perfect."_

And then inspiration strikes like lightning.

 _"Wait."_ I crawl forward on hand and knee, looking the confused magikarp in the eye. "You're not just going to be a fearsome gyarados. You're going to be _the_ fearsome gyarados. The most fearsome gyarados in the world. Your name will be inked into the history books after we become Flying Masters, so it doesn't just need to be something special - it needs to be something _perfect._ The very sound of it needs to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies, and awe into our allies'. It needs to be something people whisper to their children in their beds during the darkest of rainstorms, to which the children squeal and say _'Really? When she comes, can I pet her?'_ It needs to be…

"…wait, shit, I forgot."

Exasperation crosses the magikarp's fishy face. I scramble for something clever to say.

"Screw it, I'm calling you Mokey Mokey."

No wait shit that's not what I meant words words come back now please come back-

"Ah..." I crawl closer and pat Mokey on the side of her horrified face, giggling helplessly. "Think it over a bit, 'kay, buddy? I'm sure you'll come to treasure it."

A low, keening noise escapes her mouth, and I melt, leaning down to kiss her scales in apology. I don't even realize until after, and I find that I don't mind the slick, hard texture of her flesh as much as I thought I would.

"It's okay. If you don't like the name, we can come up with something later, once we get to know each other better." An idea comes to mind. "You know, how about we table the nickname thing and come up with one together after you evolve? Something short and sweet, maybe, and just as beautiful as you are. It'd be nice to celebrate the day it happens, don't you think?"

I perk up, remembering something. "Oh! When I was at the camp, I found a fish pokémon scale-care kit. I'm sure Misty won't miss it. Would you mind terribly if I pampered you for a bit?"

My magikarp doesn't thrash around when I pull her up and onto my lap, dipping my legs into the small pond of rainwater. She doesn't even smack me when I drop a trio of protein, carbos, and calcium vitamin pills down her throat, or run the carefully-sanitized arbok-hair brush over her scales until they glitter. I'll take that as acceptance.

"I never told you about myself, have I? Well, my name is Ashlynn Ketchum, though I just go by Ash, and I'm from Pallet Town…"

…

We don't leave for hours.

* * *

 **I** return to see Misty cooing at a sponge the size of a watermel- wait, no, that's a pokémon.

"I… see you've found what you were looking for?" I ask hopefully. If she doesn't have a reason to stay near Pallet anymore, then she might leave - and I can follow her. Hopefully, the urge to run home and sob into my mom's shoulder will decrease with distance. "…What is it you were looking for, anyway? I don't recognize it."

"Sleek's a feebas," she responds proudly. She clearly expects some sort of praise or congratulations, but at my helplessly clueless look she deflates and narrows her eyes. "You know," she says in a tone that makes it clear that I should learn - _or else,_ "The pre-evolutionary form of milotic."

"Wait, what? 'Most beautiful water-type in the world' milotic? How? That thing is horrifically ugly."

Her eyes narrow. I get the acute feeling that I have made a grave mistake.

 _Mouth, three. Brain-to-mouth filter, zero._

"Apologize." It's not a question.

I fold immediately. "I'm sorry, little feebas. I'm sure you'll manage to be beautiful, someday."

Misty looks less than impressed. I seem to be getting that expression a lot. I sigh. There's a reason I didn't choose to specialize in water-types; to me, they're just… ugh. (Except for magikarp, of course. Though, that's less because she's a magikarp and more because she's _my_ magikarp.)

"Why're you near Pallet, anyway?" I desperately change the subject. "Aren't there places to catch feebas that are, you know… closer to home?"

Her face tightens, and I realize that I may have inadvertently stepped in an Electroweb. "Yeah," she agrees, "Cerulean Cove has more than a few feebas, I just…" She sighs, tugging a hand through her hair. "It's complicated."

Whenever Leaf utters those dreaded words, Gary and I usually make our escape by whatever means necessary. Right now, though, I can't help but wonder if this is a way to begin to repay the enormous debt I owe her. It's not as dramatic or action-packed as I had expected the occasion to be, and there aren't nearly enough Hyper Beams or pretty flying-types involved, but if I can help…

I shrug nervously, lying down on the ground and fiddling with the homing mechanism of my magikarp's pokéball. A moment passes in tense silence, and I fit together words in my mind like puzzle pieces without the picture.

Talking with her last night hadn't been nearly as emotionally draining. Then again, it had been less 'talking _with'_ and more 'talking _at.'_ It had been very late out by the time we struck the tent, and there hadn't exactly been time to play summer camp bonding games.

Half the time was spent by me spilling my life's story and generally raging about the unfairness of existence, which, looking back, is a lot more embarrassing and a lot less pressing then it had seemed at the time. The other half of the time was spent with the ball on the other side of the court, where Misty proceeded to wax poetic about the precise training regimens, dietary plans, and what-I-wish-someone-had-told-me- _before_ style general advice about training magikarp that rarely makes its way to the guidebooks.

I learned a lot, and when I write my tell-all memoir in twenty years detailing my rise to champion-hood, I'll certainly give her a mention. On the one hand, I will be forever thankful for that. On the other, there wasn't any actual 'conversing' done until Alakazam woke us up and we united to mock Oak, which… okay, was pretty amusing.

It's, just… I don't know. I'd like to be her friend. I just don't think the feeling is reciprocated. …Regardless, I'll help her however I can, for now. It's the least I can do.

"…Would you like to talk about it?" I bite my tongue, but it does little to halt the deluge of words to follow. "I mean, I'm not a Waterflower, I don't really understand the, the details of the situation, but maybe that's a good thing? I can be an outside opinion or something, or maybe just an ear to vent to, I mean, I do it for Gary all the time and that dude is crazy, um-"

"It's fine," she says, but there's amusement coloring her voice and I take that as a success. "Sure, whatever. You know the starmie and staryu I had on watch? Them, and the seaking still in my bag, aren't actually my pokémon. I raised them from eggs myself, I cared for them tirelessly day in and day out for _years,_ raising and training and battling, and at times I feel less like a sixteen-year-old gym leader and more like a single mother. But- they're not _mine._ Not in the legal sense.

"See, they were bred from Cerulean City Gym pokémon, and are thus property of the Cerulean City Gym. My sisters have never so much as touched them, my parents haven't seen them in, Suicune, _years_ , and the city has never paid for their care – that came entirely out of my stipend as a league-affiliated trainer. And yet… they're still not _mine._ It- honestly, it pisses me off.

"I had enough of it. All of it. My sisters, my parents, the suffocating laws for league gym leaders, Cerulean's heavy expectations, my cookie-cutter future laid out in three hundred years of tradition- I'm sick of it all."

I nod in sympathy. "I… can see how that would be stifling."

"Yeah. Even worse? My sisters are still fantastic, borderline-prodigious trainers, but they don't train to _improve_. They train to _maintain._ And, even though I dedicate myself to bettering my pokémon day-in and day-out, I can't match them.

"It all came to a head, oh, three weeks ago? Sounds about right. I bothered my youngest sister into battling me, three-on-three, and I was crushed. Healed them at the 'Center, challenged my second sister, crushed again. Healed. Battled. _Crushed."_

I wince. For someone as obviously prideful as Misty, that has to sting.

"I just… exploded. I couldn't take it anymore. Cerulean is stifling, and I wanted out. So I quit the league, grabbed everything I was legally allowed to take and a few things I wasn't, and just… left. A trainer who managed to defeat the gym's eight-badge team last year mentioned a rival of his finding a school of feebas down here, and I was gone before dawn.

"So… yeah." I don't look, but her awkward shrug is apparent in her tone of voice. "I caught Sleek, and I'm thinking of hunting down a mantine next for flight, and maybe take a liner to Hoenn to arrange for the mudkip farm to give me one of their eggs. Then I'll have type coverage against both electrics and grass, train those three up, and… I don't know. Sootopolis has a water gym even larger than Cerulean's, and I'll already be in Hoenn – I met Juan at the Indigo Conference last year, I'm sure he'll take me on. After that… the Elite Four."

When I write that tell-all memoir, I'm not including the sudden, sharp spike of roiling envy that coiled in my gut. Gym pokémon for protection? League stipend? Three hundred years of water-type-training heritage? (Ho'oh, I don't know my own father's _name.)_ A list of contacts that can tell you where to find the pre-evo' forms of _milotic?_ 'Hunt down' a mantine, like they aren't only found thousands of miles from civilization in the heart of the ocean? Arrange for a mudkip egg? _Be trained by the strongest gym leader in all of Hoenn?_

And I thought Gary being given a growlithe pup and a case of stones was privileged. When Misty inevitably makes her way to the Elite Four, I won't be the slightest bit surprised.

I can feel my heartrate kick up, and my magikarp's ball slips from between my fingers. I catch it moments before it can bludgeon my face, and I just sort of… stare into its crimson-red hue.

How is that fair? I study day in and day out for my entire life to be the best pokémon trainer I can be, and I nearly get eaten by spearow on the first day because I'm not given a starter, while Misty ditches Cerulean with a fancy pokétech backpack and plans to train under _freaking Juan of Sootopolis._ I catch a magikarp with my one and only pokéball, she has league contacts who give her a location for _milotic._ I…

 _Breathe, Ash. All will be well._

…So what if Gary and Misty and everyone who's anyone in the league all have rich backgrounds and proud heritages and names that actually mean something. So what if they can do impossible things like waltz into Hoenn and sweet-talk a prospective Champion into giving them tutelage at their gym, while I can't afford a second pokéball at the mart. So what.

When Karen was turned down from studying ghost-types at the Ecruteak Gym, did she throw a hissy fit and become a baker or a secretary? No! She marched into the Burned Tower with a single pokéball in hand and came back out with a houndour, a houndour that would grow so powerful he could defeat anything the Elite Four trained with resounding ease and still come back for more. A houndour that had been abandoned by his pack for being weak, became a houndoom so strong he didn't merely leave his mark on modern history, he set it on _fucking_ fire.

 _Breathe. In, out. In, out._

 _All will be well._

Magikarp is going to become that houndoom. And then, she's going to surpass him.

 _Breathe._

"Aa, I know that feel," I lie breezily. Climbing lazily to my feet, I spy Misty noticeably relax from the corner of my eye, and cover the glance with a spin of my starter's pokéball. "Feel better?"

"Yeah, actually. I… really needed to let that out. Thanks."

"No problem at all." I see her fish a premier ball out of her bag, and my chocolate brown eyes darken. I may have managed to calm down, but if I have to continue this conversation I'm going to say something I'm bound to regret. "Think I'm going to wander around a bit."

"Take this," she says – no, commands – and tosses it underhand at me. "A magikarp isn't much as far as protection goes, and I might not be around to save you next time."

I jerk in surprise and only narrowly manage to catch the incredibly rare and expensive pokéball, cradling it against my chest awkwardly like I would a newborn. Irritation crawls up my spine like lightning, and I'm not sure if it's because of the charity or nearly going the way of the spearow. "I don't think-"

"Just take it already," she says, returning to lavishing attention on Sleek and paying only half a mind to the conversation. "It's not like I paid for it - we've got hundreds of the things in a closet somewhere back at the gym. Really, you'll be doing me a favor. It's pretty close, but my bag isn't infinite, and it can't store pokétech."

I purse my lips, swallowing down a reflexive retort. Sharing tent space and rescuing each other from spearow flocks is all part of the trainer gig; it's almost expected, one can say.

Pokéballs, though. Pokéballs go for two hundred dollars a pop, and premier balls ten times that amount. Rookie trainers are expected to live off of the land and the rare winnings from gym challenges and minor league tournaments, as it's a rare trainer indeed that manages to come out of the financial red until their third year, minimum.

Giving away that kind of money… it's just not done. Self-sufficiency is the metric all trainers are valued by, above even strength and rarity. The proper thing to do would be to turn her down anyway, train my magikarp into a gyarados, and then win enough money to buy a pokéball with my own two hands and my starter by my side. It's what Karen would do, right?

…But I can't, not really. Turning down a gift freely given like that would be an insult, and I'm not going to insult the woman who saved my life. She might not understand what it's like for trainers who can't bring gym pokémon with them on their journeys for protection, or who don't have a fortune's worth of spare pokéballs in a closet, or who weren't raised by some of the strongest league trainers in the world - but I do. I've spent my whole life comparing myself to Gary and falling short, and I'm not going to do the same here, not now. (I can't.)

So I say, "Thank you," and walk out of the campsite without a second glance. I'm not sure if she hears the unspoken promise.

 _I'll pay you back._

* * *

 **There** exists an underground tunnel connecting Viridian City to Vermillion. Though long-since colonized and maintained by Sylph Co. and used for ferrying pokétech and other valuable merchandise from the nearby Saffron to the Indigo Plateau and back, it was originally dug by a veritable horde of dugtrio and to this day is the single greatest spawning ground of the strange ground-type pokémon in the world. Though not as quick as the donphan that call the plains of Johto home or as tough as the golem that can be evolved from the literally-common-as-rocks geodude found in every cave ever, dugtrio are a common sight in the Kanto league tournament.

Of course, I'm not here to catch one. That'd be silly. Dugtrio are that unlucky combination of completely ugly and not-a-flying-type. I'm about as likely to want to catch one as I am to kneel before Gary and declare him my lord, husband, and master. No, I'm here for something completely different.

"Oh, zubat~ zooey zooey zooo-baaat~"

Let it be known for the record that I don't like golbat. Their mouths are too large, their fangs are weirdly proportioned for their bodies, their laugh sounds cruel, and they're essentially the flying-type equivalent to gengar. Zubat themselves are utterly adorable with their cute little fangs and fur like velvet and vampiric aversion to sunlight, but golbat are just… ugh.

But I _do_ like crobat. I like their second set of wings, the texture of their thin fur, the loyalty they have to their trainers, their little curved fangs, and their happily mischievous natures. I adore the way they can fly circles around even pidgeot, the uncontested kings of the Kanto-Johto sky. I freaking _love_ how they only evolve once they find the one being in their life, whether it be a trainer or a mate, that they feel they can dedicate themselves to, heart, mind, and soul. In fact, I love them so much I might even call them one of my favorites.

All that being said, I'm not blind to their faults. Walking into a zubat nest spells doom not for a trainer's life, but their pride. Walking into a tunnel home to not only zubat but sandshrew and diglett as well? If I had more than a magikarp for company, maybe this wouldn't be _the dumbest thing I've ever done._

Well… running away from Pallet Town without protection was the dumbest thing I've ever done. This is a close second, though.

See, most pokémon are intelligent enough to realize maiming small children is the kind of thing that calls down the hammer of the league, but knowing I will be avenged won't make said maiming hurt any less. I've already learned my lesson with the spearow – just because I love pokémon, doesn't mean pokémon love me. I can't give, say, a threatened mother sandslash a hug to make her not lash out at a perceived danger to her clutch.

So where hugs are insufficient, I will have to resort to cleverness.

"Magikarp, return," I say, shifting awkwardly so the tail fin of the fish in my hands bumps up against the pokéball pseudo-magnetically attached to my hip. "Okay, okay… How to do this, how to do this…"

The matter of a pokémon's general intelligence is a common topic for aspiring researchers. How smart are they? How much do they remember from their time in the egg? How much do they learn from their ancestors? Do they innately understand human language, or are they taught? Is it all languages, or just the ones derived from the unown? A conclusive answer has yet to be found, and most researchers move on to something else – like, say, whether the unown or the alphabet came first.

What few tidbits have been unearthed, however, soon circulated among the training community, and were then poked, prodded, and picked apart until a few nuggets of advice fell out. One of those was the startlingly useful revelation that pokémon don't understand the words humans speak – they understand the intent _behind_ those words.

In her match against Chuck, Johto's premier fighting-type gym leader, Karen and her dark-types had to resort to cunning and deception to mitigate the poor matchup. Throughout the battle, she had shouted nonsense words like 'flutterling' or 'triniset' to her pokémon, who had reacted as if she had sat them down with a map of the battlefield and a laser pointer and gone over a plan in incredible detail. At the time, I had thought those were prepared code words she had trained her team to associate with a number of battle tactics. I'm not so sure anymore, though.

I had gotten the idea from Oak, actually. It was sometime last year; early spring, perhaps, though I hadn't spent it outside. He was hard at work editing an essay from an up-and-comer in the scientific community called Sycamore with one hand, and chowing down on a sandwich with the other, when the doorbell rang. Unable to speak through the lettuce in his mouth, he had rapped his fist against the desk once, twice, thrice, and Alakazam had answered the door for him.

Maybe what happened wasn't what I think it was. Alakazam is one of the smartest pokémon in the world, and connecting the facts that the doorbell rang, Oak was busy, and Oak was tapping on the desk together to make an order isn't exactly difficult. Or, maybe the knocking was a signal to peer into Oak's mind, where he then gave him an order in complete silence. I don't know.

But it made me think. If pokémon don't understand words, but the message a human used those words to convey, then a _lot_ of questions I didn't even know I had suddenly have answers. Like the time Karen ordered Umbreon to use Power Gem in the quarter-finals – it hadn't been clear to me what she meant, at the time. Strike the gardevoir's center mass? Hit the dirt and kick up a sandscreen? Deflect the thrown Aura Sphere with it? Umbreon had known, though, and fired the beam of light directly _down,_ using the pillar of stone it summoned as propulsion to gently arc up and over the lethal fighting-type technique, putting him in prime position to Crunch.

Looking back at all the battles I've watched over the years, and… that kind of thing happened a _lot._ Maybe the bond between trainer and pokémon is more extreme than I had imagined, or maybe that's what separates the elite from the casual, but… what if it's not? What if it's something so much simpler? What if it's just language at it's truest – a way for one being to communicate with another?

Gary, Leaf, and I used to use morse code as a discrete way of passing messages in class. That's language, right? And don't zubat use echolocation – sound waves – to navigate and communicate with one another? In a cave system like this one, they must have a pretty impressive range…

I take a single step into the side-tunnel connecting Pallet Town to the Viridian-Vermillion network, wait for the sun to dip below the crest of Mount Silver, pick up a long, heavy stone, and **smash it against the wall again and again and again and again and-**

"T-R-A-I-N-E-R- -S-E-E-K-I-N-G- -F-A-S-T-E-S-T- -Z-U-B-A-T- -I-N- -T-R-I-O- -C-A-V-E."

It's a known phenomenon that pokémon grow stronger by training with humans, even if they're doing the exact same thing after capture that they were doing before. If Misty is to be believed, and I have no reason to distrust the Waterflower, then the same thing happens in reverse. Symbiosis at its finest.

It stands to reason, then, that a pokémon who prides itself on being the fastest will want to become even _faster._

I hear them long before I see them, the chittering and fluttering of a hundred flying-types rocketing through an enclosed space and jockeying for position at the head of the formation. I tense at the sound, mind flashing back to the spearow and their unholy cawing and the _riptearclaw_ of beak against flesh and _oh Ho'oh Misty isn't here,_ but- in. Out. In. Out.

 _I'm a trainer, now. All will be well._

My knees buckle and my brain vibrates in my skull and all I can think is _make-that-god-awful-sound-go-away,_ but I was ready for it, and stand strong. Supersonic. It's not as bad as Confuse Ray, honestly, but the force of a hundred of them makes me thankful there aren't any golbat or crobat with the group. I wouldn't be able to keep my lunch if there were.

And then the flock arrives and I reflexively wonder if I should have caught a caterpie or something.

Zubat get a bad rep in most league circles. They're as common as the cave systems they call home, so weak they are burned by direct sunlight, and their venom is among the weakest of all poison types. They have to rely on Supersonic to navigate, leaving any trainer who tries to raise one with a permanent migraine, and only grow more chaotically inclined with evolution. Evolving one into a crobat is supposed to be incomprehensibly difficult, as their malicious natures common amongst poison types makes forming the unbreakable bond they need a trial and a half.

A hundred zubat come spilling out of the cave system and fly circles around me like a living tornado, and I am caught, petrified, in the eye. They chitter and squeak and cackle, rousing every sleeping pokémon in a quarter-mile radius, and the night comes alive before my stunned gaze. And I can tell – it's only a matter of time until a fight breaks out, and I don't want to be in ground zero when it does.

 _Better take advantage, then,_ I think, and scream- _"Last one standing comes with me to the Championship!"_

I desperately sprint deeper into the cave system, sucking in a breath and throwing a sloppy somersault when I reach the living wall of zubat blocking the way. They evade my rolling body with seeming trivial ease, and though I pick up a number of bleeding scrapes and tear a gaping furrow down my jacket – _ah, Arc, shit shit shit –_ I make it past without being torn apart by the chaos that follows.

Golden flares of Leech Life rend startled squeaks left and right, acid from desperately cast Poison Fangs scorch deep scars into the foliage, and the unholy clamor from furious Supersonics rises high enough to wake the dead. I clasp both hands against my ears and grit my teeth, falling to a knee with a grunt of exertion. This is not what I had in mind when I woke up this morning.

But I can't help but notice a solid half-dozen break off from the battlefield to arc towards a zubat either cowardly or cunning enough to wait and watch for the others to destroy each other for him. It's a move I can appreciate, on both sides – I'll never be able to overpower Karen, so I'll have to outthink her, and weight of numbers is an effective if crude counter to superior skill – but not one that I expected. Zubat are known for their mischievousness, not their intelligence.

This zubat didn't seem to get the memo, because once its six aggressors near it in a blinding display of speed, teamwork, and precision, it unleashes a move I never in my wildest dreams expected a zubat to know.

Flash.

I thought the glow from last night's lightning strikes was bright. I was wrong. _So_ wrong. The incandescent flare of light is so incredibly brilliant that the delicate skin of the attacking zubat is seared clean off, mercilessly cutting their strings like unwanted puppets. The clever zubat is the heart of a supernova, and the blinding flash spears through dozens more of the bat pokémon, dropping them like flies, too.

The only zubat to evade the onslaught are those lucky or cold-blooded enough to use other zubat as cover. Each and every single one of them – all seven of those who survived the fifteen second fight with nearly a hundred casualties – turn towards their cunning brother with fury evident in their trembling bodies.

 _They're going to tear him apart,_ I realize. Then, _I can't let that happen._

He's going to be the second member of my family, after all.

 _"Fastest gets caught!"_ I shout, throwing a pokéball high into the sky. Magikarp's pokéball. The seven surviving zubat streak towards it, abandoning their vengeance in the hopes of becoming a trainer's teammate. When the fastest among them reaches it with triumph clear in its wingbeats, the crushing disappointment it keens out when it realizes the ball is already claimed almost breaks my heart.

It's too late for me to change my mind, though, as I have already thrown Misty's premier ball at the Flashing zubat, the only one who didn't streak towards my magikarp's pokéball with all the speed and desperation of a falling star. Whether it knew what I was up to or merely realized it was too exhausted and too far away to reach it in time, I don't know, but it lazily arcs into the second ball all the same.

I flick my wrist to trigger the homing mechanism, and I catch it with a satisfying smack, just in time for it to glow in success. I smile softly.

"I'm going to call you Nova," I whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to the cool metal, "For the light of an exploding star. Vee, for short."

…

Then the seven duped zubat rocket towards me in rage, and I scream, breaking out into a mad run all the way back to camp, and I can't help but wonder –

 _Am I doomed to be chased by a swarm of flying-types every single day!?_

…

Even still, today's been a good day, and, for the first time since I left Pallet, I finally begin to believe that all will be well.

* * *

 **End of Chapter Two**

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ **_Pokédex entries are copied word-for-word from FireRed, Gold &Silver, Ruby, Diamond, Black&White, and Y. Damn, the games are mean to poor magikarp._

 _Skullcruncher Prime is the politically correct version of a much more impolitic term found on Shockz' In Which I Watch Sword Art Online. It refers to the final non-human boss seen in SAO - the skeleton centipede thing. The rest of the nicknames are taken from my own past gyarados._

 _Misty is sixteen here, whereas Ash – and most rookie trainers – are twelve. Ash is being more than a little judgmental, but she has that right, I think. Misty certainly has her fair share of growing up to do. There won't be any bashing in this story, but there will (hopefully) be realistic character growth._

 _The idea of using unintelligible sounds and hand-motions to command pokémon is a marvelous idea I wish I came up with. Alas, I discovered the idea from the marvelous fic "Pokémon Nephri" by rkyeun, found on the SufficientVelocity questing forum. And, no, Ash isn't alone in possessing this knowledge – most worthwhile trainers she will meet will have similar ideas._


	3. 0-3 All Fall Down

**_Previously on Touch The Skies..._**

Ashlynn Ketchum, denied the charmander she scouted for a starter, runs into the forests of Route One in tears. This predictably ends in screams as she's chased by spearow, until she catches a magikarp (for some reason) and is rescued by Misty. Alakazam comes and does the Oak thing of being casually antagonistic, Misty does the Misty thing of schooling Ash in pokemon, and Ash catches a zubat to round off perhaps the worst team to ever pokemon bar those that include more than one rattata. Then, the author vanishes in a whirl of space-time for nine months and abandons you all.

* * *

 _My apologies for the disappearance._

* * *

 **Touch The Skies**

* * *

 **Hatchling Arc (0-3)**

 **All Fall Down**

* * *

 _"Strong Pokémon, weak Pokémon, that is only the foolish perception of people._

 _Truly skilled trainers should try to win with their favorites."_

 _\- Karen of the Johto Elite Four._

* * *

" **I** just don't see how this is any better."

Growing up, I always imagined training sessions to involve a lot of mind-numbing repetition and the slow, but steady march towards Championship. I expected to have to sit on a log and watch as my charmander spewed piddling flames at the sky over and over until it, I don't know, naturally morphed into a Flamethrower or something. Years of watching my mom go through her morning exercise routine had conditioned me to think that the path towards amazing physical prowess was covered in annoying shrubbery that I had to cut through, one by one, achingly slowly.

This was wrong, apparently. When Misty caught me having Nova fly figure-eights in an attempt to figure out Aerial Ace, she grabbed me by the ear and dragged me towards the lake she found with her water-trainer powers. There, I found her ugly sponge thing furiously trying to tackle her staryu and getting pounded into the – well, not earth. Lakebed? – for it. Misty wasn't bothering with even the façade of attention, having set up a picnic complete with blanket and tiny sandwiches, and reclined against a tree with a paperback embossed with a stylized Suicune.

Standing at the edge of the glade, two pokéballs in hand and only slivers of sunlight peering through the leaves, I was left feeling somewhat out-of-place. The large, densely packed trees formed a natural barrier protecting the lake from invaders, and I felt like a dirty, unexpected house guest at a manor, tracking dirt everywhere but too oblivious to know to leave. It wasn't a feeling I liked, and not for the first time I wanted to shake Misty until all her common courtesy fell out.

An absent wave from her saw me releasing both Mokey and Nova above the lake anyway. For all her abrasive personality, there's still few people in this world I respect more and I'm not arrogant enough to dismiss what she has to teach me. That doesn't mean I won't question her about it, but I can give her the benefit of the doubt.

"I mean…" I motion towards the feebas, who was just knocked clean out by a lazy stream of bubbles. Water pokémon are weird. "I don't think getting beat up is, ah, conducive towards a positive learning environment? It just seems… counter-intuitive…?"

Misty snaps her book closed, the clap echoing across the clearing. I flinch, but she looks contemplative instead of annoyed. "How do I put this…" A pause, and- "Do you know why Professor Rowan focuses on evolution?"

"That's, um, the Sinnoh guy, right?" He's not as famous as Professor Oak, but he's been around almost as long and focuses on more niche mysteries, so he's, like, store-brand Oak? Something like that. "No, not really."

"Well, before he became his region's top researcher, he specialized in moves, instead. Specifically, in ways to improve the power of attacks. In the study that made him famous, he had his prinplup continuously use Water Gun at targets of variable distance and strength, and recorded the rate at which it improved. He'd change all sorts of things to see how it affected the test, like what the pokémon ate the day before, or the density of water in the air, or if it could see the targets or not."

I walk over and kneel down next to her, interested despite the seeming non-sequitur. Nova agrees, fluttering over to curl up on the brim of my hat and chitter happily at me. Maybe he just wants food, though. It's hard to tell.

"The very last variable he tried was in replacing the targets with a volunteer's flock of starly. Imagine his surprise when the prinplup improved so swiftly it evolved into an empoleon before the week was out." Her voice is dry, and I giggle. "The study's been repeated a number of times, and it's been accepted as fact that conflict between two or more pokémon is the fastest way to improve. It won't teach new moves and it won't make them any more skilled, though there's something to be said about raw combat experience in a fight, but when it comes to making a pokémon faster or stronger or tougher, nothing else compares."

"Why, though?" I can't help but ask. Results are results, but… "I mean, if the pokémon's doing the exact same thing in a fight as it is against, like, a tree or something, what does it matter?"

She taps her fingers on the base of the paperback. "That's the million dollar question, isn't it? No one knows. Researchers can figure out the what, but the how and the why are still mysteries." She hums. "It doesn't really matter, though, does it? I know how best to train and all the tricks useful in battle and breeding, and knowing all the whys and hows and whodunits won't change a thing. It's just the way it is."

I look back out over the lake. Mokey had apparently joined in on the battle, and was now swimming madly away from an underwater torrent for her presumption. The staryu was clearly holding back its punches, else my poor magikarp would be torn to strips by now. I'd cheer her on, but, well, she's underwater. And… "That's- a very unsatisfying answer."

Misty snorts. "You and me both, brat. Professor Rowan, too. My seaking wouldn't be half as strong if I hadn't followed his research so religiously."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like this." She pulls a small stone out of her pokétech pouch. "Do you know what this is?"

I open my mouth to give the admittedly uninspired answer of 'A rock?', but her droll look demands I reconsider. "…An evolutionary stone?" I say instead, already knowing I'm wrong.

"Kind of. It's called an everstone. When a pokémon eats it, they become completely and wholly incapable of evolving until they – ah – defecate it out." She cuts me off before I can interject, saying, "Again, no one knows why, it just does."

"I was going to ask, _'Why would you possibly want to do that?'_ Isn't evolving a good thing?"

"Well, yes, but not so soon. Pokemon are powered by some kind of universal energy source – considering the glow they give off when they evolve, it's blatantly obvious. This power grows stronger through battle, as I already explained to you. What Rowan's spent his life researching is a curious little theory called the 'evolutionary threshold.'"

She pauses, and I take the bait, asking, "What's the evolutionary threshold?"

"It's the amount of – fuck it, let's call it poképower – that a given pokémon needs to evolve. And if I know my water pokémon, and I do, that magikarp of yours is almost ready herself."

I jerk, looking back over the lake with wide eyes. I see Mokey get trapped by some cleverly aimed beams of bubbles, only to Splash her way up and into the air, diving back into the depths in a safer section of the frothing waters. She… doesn't seem any faster than the feebas…?

"Think of it… like a budget," she explains, and I wince. Maths are not my strong suit. "You work a nine-to-five and pull in, say, a hundred thousand dollars per paycheck. Fifty thousand goes towards your taxes – your electricity, your hot water, your house, your education and your land and your whatever, I don't do my own taxes. Thirty goes towards luxuries, stuff like movie tickets, nights on the town, a car, maybe a fancy new computer. The last twenty is put towards a college or a retirement fund or whatever.

"The income is the energy the pokémon gets by training, and the taxes go towards maintaining the power it already has – there are all sorts of documented cases about pokémon that give up battling and gradually grow weaker. The luxuries would be the portion of the energy that goes towards making the pokémon stronger, faster, tougher."

"So the college fund would be stored for- what, evolution? And when it grows large enough to fully pay for college, the pokémon can evolve?"

"Yeah." She smiles. "But, if they hold off..."

"…Then they'd have an even larger fund, and could afford a nicer college. They'd evolve better, somehow. Mokey would become a larger, fiercer gyarados, or your feebas would be a prettier milotic, or something."

"Exactly! It's not an unsurpassable method, of course. If your magikarp evolves right now, it could still become as big and strong a gyarados as it would be if it held off, it'd just take longer. Gyarados need more energy to maintain and improve, so they grow stronger, slower. It's simply more efficient to train in the weakest stage of the evolutionary line and only climb it once you reach a wall in your training and absolutely have to, you know?"

I nod, surprised to realize that I'd gotten lost in the conversation and had been tearing apart the grass. "That's why bug-types are considered to be so weak, right? Cause most of them evolve as soon as they can?" Dragons would be the opposite, I guess – I think I remember reading that Lance's top dragonite was a dratini for nearly a decade. And gyarados, too. They must be so strong in part because magikarp are so weak. If they only put forth, say, five percent each to maintaining and improving, than that's ninety percent that was saved for as impressive an evolution as they could manage.

"That's one of the reasons, yes," Misty explains. "There's also the fact that most bug-types are deeply communal and generally attack and defend as a hive. Taken out of that environment and forced to fight one-on-one, they can't really stack up against most solitary pokémon when their greatest strengths – their numbers and coordination – are taken from them. That's why Aaron of the Elite Four, generally considered the greatest bug-type trainer in the world, generally focuses on bugs that lack a hive mentality, like venomoth and drapion."

Logical. "Isn't drapion a poison- and dark-type, though? It doesn't really fit in with a bunch of bug types."

She snorts. "I'll grant you that it's more poisonous and dark than it is buggy, but it's still a bug-type, in the same way that charizard and gyarados are still dragon-types and flygon is still a flying-type. Trainers generally limit themselves to labeling a pokémon with two types or less so they don't give themselves aneurysms trying to calculate the best move to use in a battle, no other reason."

"Fair enough." Across the lake, Mokey evades a cage of bubbles with Splash again, only for the staryu to catch her along the flank – or is it the hide? The scales? – with a brutal Rapid Spin. Nova chitters in either mocking chastisement or kind sympathy, I don't know him well enough to tell yet, and flutters off to join the battle.

Misty returns to her book, her daily quota of mentorship fulfilled, and I spend the rest of the day fiddling with my pokédex, the stark knowledge that my cute little magikarp might evolve into a terrifying gyarados sooner rather than later sitting cold in the back of my mind.

* * *

 **Time** passes in an idyllic haze. Day and night have no meaning in the glade, with the thick canopy of leaves and wood holding back the radiance of the sun and the siren song of flying-types every dawn and dusk. Only the blinking lights of my pokédex and Misty's own strangely rigid sleep schedule hold back the wild theories of fairies under hills and little girls who wander in one day and wander out eighty years later. Nova loves it, allowed to hide away from the sun's searing light and yet stay out of the pokéball he's taken an almost manic loathing of.

During the tail end of the first practice session, Mokey hurls herself at Misty's staryu in a slightly more effective way than she had been. This is apparently some kind of impressive milestone, heralded by the congratulations of my _de facto_ mentor, cheery chittering from Nova, and smug looks from the magikarp queen herself. I make sure to praise her for her accomplishment and slip in some water-type treats Misty gave me with her twice-daily dose of vitamins, but I don't really understand. The pokédex backs up the gym leader's assurance that my starter has learned Tackle, but it doesn't seem to be much different than the tackling she'd been doing since she hatched.

My confusion is only compounded at the end of the second week, when Mokey tackles the staryu in a third subtly different way and promptly begins to swim victory laps around the lake.

"Flail, huh?" Misty says, a casual comfort to her voice that's been slowly growing with each passing day. Half a month spent camping with someone forges a sort of camaraderie that stretches beyond being saved from a fearow. "Your magikarp's reaching the limits of what it can accomplish without evolving. Do me a favor and wait until I leave to do that, yeah?"

I startle. "Wait, what? You're leaving?"

"This arrangement of ours was never going to be permanent." Her voice is understanding, but unapologetic. "Look, I'm heading to Pewter to help Brock examine some rare fossils found by some over-enthusiastic tunnelers in Mt. Moon. You can come along, if you'd like."

"Yeah, but…" I gnaw on my lip, watching Mokey kick off her Splash at an angle to back-flip in the air.

Misty notices and sighs, crossing her arms. "Look. Gyarados are called the Atrocious Pokemon for their nasty demeanor and genetic habit of turning on their trainers, I'm not going to lie- but I am going to level with you. If I'm there to offer my support or you in any way, shape, or form show weakness when it evolves, it will _never_ respect you. I'm not running off to be a bitch – it's as much for your benefit as it is mine."

"I understand that, do you think I'm blind?" The words have more bite to them than I expected, and the regret is as sharp as it is immediate. I don't apologize. "Just. How!? I'm firm when I need to be firm and soft when I need to be soft, and she likes me, I can tell, she really, really does – but if she becomes some kinda avatar of destruction the moment she evolves, _what in Lugia's name am I supposed to do to stop her?"_

"That's a problem all trainers have to wrestle with, not just those who catch magikarp. We're just human, you know? We can't breathe fire or break stone or flap our arms and fly, but we're expected to tame monsters that can. Really, at the end of the day there's only one thing I can tell you – don't back down. Pokemon need us to become strong just as much as we need them, and so long as your soul is made of steel it won't matter if your body isn't."

I look down, jaw working furiously. Words upon caustic words crawl up my throat and are chewed on, like Misty's feebas with a stick, torn apart by deceptively sharp teeth and swallowed down like so much empty water. There's really nothing to say, to something like that, so I don't say anything at all.

And that's the crux of the matter, isn't it? Karen wouldn't have this problem. Karen would stare down the gyarados and make it kneel with her eyes alone. Karen wouldn't be terrified of her starter turning on her, because her starter would sooner die than harm a hair on her head. Karen has that kind of charisma, that kind of talent, that only champions have and isn't found in lonely girls who don't know their father's name.

I'm not Karen. I want to be, but I'm not. I may be someday – I will be someday – but that day is not today.

"Help me pack. We leave in a half hour."

* * *

 **Trees** give way to rock, and rock to plaster and cement. Viridian City lies at the end of a long path through gentle woods and lazy rivers, populated only by squeaking rattata and the flapping of tiny wings. Pokémon are weak, on Route One, carefully pruned not by man but by the mothers of those selfsame pokémon, fearsome pidgeot and cruel fearow bickering over territory and scaring away all else who migrate here.

Beneath the hostile canopy, the mice pokémon reign supreme. Hordes of rattata gather and strike against the electric pikachu, and are scattered and incinerated by their enemies in turn. Their fallen bodies are devoured by the birds of prey above if they are lucky and their own fellows if they are not. Rarely, young nidoran slip away from their far more fearsome environment along Victory Road and poison the cyclical life along the forest, but are no more successful than the sandshrew brave or arrogant enough to leave their tunnel to Vermilion.

By night, the land is overtaken by a haunting stillness, the whispered promise of violence I know far too well. Nova chitters in outrage with the rising dawn as I draw him into his pokéball for each day's trek. Misty nods in understanding. Only crobat have skin thick enough to not scorch under the sun's light, and for all of her starmie's strength it'd be foolish to brave the night when the day is so much kinder. A neophyte I may be, but I am not foolish.

As our destination draws ever nearer, and our journey of a thousand steps shortens with every stride, I can feel my future in the sheen of the passing lakes, the danger in every blade of grass. I do not relent. And lo, the gates to the famed city rise above the endless horizon-

"We're running later than I thought," Misty says, clicking her tongue in annoyance. "C'mon, I want to hit up the Center before the morning rush."

We jog the rest of the way, the enlarging of the already immense city gates the only sign of our progress. Route One has always felt like that. All the trees look almost identical, the mammoth mountains to the north and west dwarf the rest of the horizon, and the steep, steady incline hurts my legs enough to kill all interest in navigation. Despite being the local of the two of us, I'm more than happy to leave the directions to Misty and wax rhapsodic in my mind to pass the time.

By the time we finally reach Viridian, I'm panting with my hands on my knees and violently wishing for the day when I can just fly everywhere on Mokey's back. Seeing Misty casually, relaxedly stroll over to a town map kiosk hurts my pride far more than the incline did my thighs, though. Does being a trainer grant godly endurance alongside the swimming skills, or am I really that out of shape?

"The Center is this way!" I call out, desperate to regain some small face. When she looks at me skeptically, I roll my eyes, saying, "I'm from Pallet, not the bottom of the ocean. I come here all the time."

Usually by hitching a ride on Alakazam, granted, and to this day Mom hasn't the slightest idea, but that's just details.

"I know a shortcut. We'll be there in five minutes."

My prediction proves true. Viridian may as well be Saffron for all that it's the most urbanized place I have ever visited, not to mention the furthest from home, field trip to the Forest notwithstanding, but it's still straddling the line between historic town and burgeoning city. Being the closest district to the Indigo League, it derives most of its income from tourists during the infamous tournament and is about three parts hotel to two parts rustic restaurant and one part antique boutique. As such, development is carefully controlled by a corporate union headed by the Gym Leader eager to maintain his monopoly on the local businesses. Every attempt to expand outward, upward, or even downward is arrested by a vicious PR campaign and baseless worries of disturbing the forest habitat to the North, the League to the West, and the tunnels to the South, leaving only the scenic ocean to the East, mocking in its lack of landmass to build on.

…According to mom, anyway. She doesn't talk about her past much, but I can't help but wonder what kind of changes she would have enacted in Kanto were she not burdened with me. I don't know my father, but I can say with perfect honesty that I get my honest passion from her. She rails about injustice the same way I do flying-type pokémon, with words too big and/or obscure for the other party to understand, and we share the same stubborn cunning needed to realize those dreams. Were it not for me, I very much doubt that Viridian would be as small and underdeveloped as it is now.

What I'm getting at is that the so-called city can be crossed from the longest diameter in a time frame of, like, fifty minutes. That's not even as the pidgey flies, which would be more like thirty, thirty-five minutes. That's at a brisk walk. Jogging through back alleys, weaving past nameless cafes and not at all distracted by the zero people out and about this early in the morning at the complete other end of the year from the Conference, we make good time. For once, I'm actually glad that Viridian only has the capacity to hold the richest and dumbest five percent of Conference tourists. Had it actually been larger like mom always said it should be, then the Center would assuredly have been moved farther from Route One.

But it isn't, so we reach the Center only mildly out of breath. After two long weeks living in the forest, however, breathlessness is nothing compared to the stench of sweat, smoke, and scaly pokémon that cling to us like an ekans, or the chill of the early morning air burrowing into our bones. The sight of the trademark red roof seems almost surreal, after the short journey that lasted eternities. If someone told me that it was Arceus himself that triggered the blast of heated air conditioning that rushed over us once we passed the threshold, I would have converted on the spot.

"I'm going to check my accounts, see if any of my contacts got back to me about my future team." Misty is walking towards the terminal in the corner before she so much as finishes her sentence. Unsurprisingly, she doesn't bother looking over her shoulder or asking me anything. "You make sure the nurse gives your pokémon a good look over, 'kay?"

I just blink at her. "You said they were healthy?" I have to pitch my voice high just to be heard from across the room.

"Who do you trust more, me or a licensed medical professional?" she calls back.

"Aah… you…?" Is that a trick question? I can never tell.

 _Nothing for it, I suppose._ I head over to the desk, only to find the Nurse Joy asleep on the job. She'd pulled one of the cushion-chair-things over from the lobby and sat on it criss-cross, and managed to fall asleep on her own thigh in an impressive feat of circus-style contortion. Fighting-type attunement, maybe? Or just human flexibility?

"Nurse?" I knock on the desk three times, making sure to do it quietly. "Nurse, I need help?"

She jerks awake, snapping her head up so fast her wig almost dislodges. I catch a flash of dark brown hair and can feel my heart break. Nurse Joy isn't a natural pinkette. My entire life is a lie. Mommy-

Nah, I had that freakout years ago, when Mom showed me a documentary on the Kalos War. It's- soothing, to know that 'Joy' and 'Jenny' is little more than a cultural title, just like the pink and blue hair. Should this whole 'League trainer' thing not work out, Arceus forbid... maybe I can join the Police Corps. Maybe. It's a nice fallback to have, I suppose, though I try not to think about it.

"I'm awake!" she yelps, gaze darting across the room in search of- something. When the only face she can see is mine, Misty hidden around the back, she relaxes. "Oh. A trainer. Can I help you?"

I swipe a strand of dark hair behind an ear awkwardly. "I- yeah. I'm a new trainer. My zubat and magikarp haven't been checked over by a Nurse yet, and I thought, maybe I should get on that, and, stuff... yeah."

"Of course, dear." She smiles. It'd look motherly, if she were any older than eighteen or nineteen. "Just put their pokéballs on the tray and I'll get right on that, okay?"

I nod, and do so. The large, shiny – is the metal naturally like that or is it just paint? I never could tell – machine beeps at me, pointless LED lights flashing green. The tray retracts with a clockwork groan, and a long half-minute passes before the trademark jingle burned into the minds of every trainer everywhere sounds off. Scan complete.

...Then it beeps _again,_ and Joy looks down at a mostly hidden screen with a frown. That frown darkens into a truly fearsome scowl over the course of the three longest seconds of my life. When she looks back up at me, she no longer seems quite so motherly, and I shiver, half out of growing worry for the health of Mokey and Nova and half out of honest fear for myself.

Slowly, deliberately, Nurse Joy brushes a finger across a loose pokéball on the desk behind the bar. There's that familiar blaze of crimson light, and a chansey stands behind her protectively, not looking quite so harmless or ridiculous as they always did to me, before. I swallow.

"I'm going to have to ask you to wait here for a few minutes, please," she says, and it is not at all a question. She rises and disappears through a door behind the Scanner, and I can't help but notice that the chansey doesn't follow her. In fact, it hasn't taken its large, glassy eyes off of me once since it was released. Something that pink shouldn't be so very threatening.

The next fifteen minutes pass about as fast as Mokey on land. Unable to return to the seating area without the chansey's intimidating demeanor spiking, unable to pull my team's pokéballs from the Scanner without climbing over the table and trespassing, I instead hide behind my pokédex and pretend to research all the worst diseases magikarp and zubat can have. My findings range from 'embarrassing' to 'holy shit what the hell,' and it only makes me feel even scummier – for what possible reason, I don't know.

When the local Officer Jenny stalks into the Center, I feel weirdly relieved that something is finally happening. Then I notice that it is _Officer Jenny_ that stalked into the Center, and I perform the magic transmutation of turning relief into anxiety. I feel naked, vulnerable. Not for the first time, I wish Misty would complete her call and come back into the Center proper – even if she doesn't rescue me, at least I could hide behind her. She'd be a lot more effective at it than my 'dex, being bigger and capable of speech and whatnot.

But she doesn't and Jenny looks just as tense as Joy did, and I wonder if I'll have to borrow Misty's fishing rod to pull my stomach back up from the floor when this is all over. If it ever becomes 'all over.'

"Give me some ID," the Officer says, cold eyes laser-focused on me like Nova on a thrown Razz Berry. Saying 'No' doesn't even cross my mind.

I scramble through my backpack, pulling my Trainer Card out of its pocket with such haste I almost drop it and embarrass myself further. "Here, ah-"

"Hmph." She takes it and looks it over, even holding it up to the light to check its authenticity. I quash a surge of indignity. I didn't do anything wrong, but I've read enough adventure novels to know that protesting will only make me look guiltier of whatever sin presumably made Joy freak out and call her over. I resolve to just wait and keep my silence.

This decision is broken not fifteen seconds later, when Jenny pockets the card and demands I follow. I couldn't help the incredulous "What did I do!?" if my life depended on it.

"That's what I'm here to find out," she responds darkly, but against my earlier impression that anger doesn't seem directed at _me._ It's still there, but it's directionless, or maybe just aimed at someone she doesn't know and who she can't get to. It's- not a relief, but good to hear.

The back of the Pokemon Center is nothing like I imagined it to be. Whereas the waiting room was all comfy spherical chairs, open space and shiny white walls, the staff section is cramped and filled with half-empty boxes. I see hundreds of premier balls in a few pushed back against one wall, reminding me of Misty's comment of having a closet somewhere filled with just as many, but most seem to be holding technological parts and stacks upon stacks of papers. It takes until I see a Scanner dismantled and set in front of one that I realize that the Pokemon Center is being moved deeper into Viridian after all, and either bureaucracy or human laziness is what's pushing it back.

But even then, the red-on-white pokéball aesthetic remains dominant – until Jenny opens a door marked PATIENT ROOM ONE and leads me into something I'd expect out of Oak's private lab, not a Center. The walls are less of a cream and more of a bleach, and are covered not in motivational posters and 'interesting facts' but in diagrams detailing the worst diseases known to pokémon. One catches my eye, notable for its prominent placement and the fact that, of all the sicknesses labeled in the room, it's the only I'm not already at least passingly familiar with, from the 'dex not ten minutes ago or from hanging around the Corral these past ten years.

It depicts a fearsome-looking charizard on the left side – and a dying one on the right, bleeding from the eyes and mouth though otherwise seeming as strong and healthy as ever. It's- eerie, in a way all the other diseases just aren't.

My fingers clench. I scan it for information, any information at all, but only see four letters printed across the top in all capitals. It reads:

 _PKRS._

"What do you know of that... condition?" Joy asks, and I jerk back to awareness, only then noticing the nurse perched on a hard-backed chair pressed against the far wall. When she sees my honest confusion, she smiles, but it's a smaller, sadder thing. "It's called the Pokemon Virus. Generic name, but no other viruses can, ah, _compare._ Have you heard of it?"

I wet my lips. "N-no, Nurse Joy."

Jenny closes the door with a _thud._ I jump, and her hand clasps my shoulder firmly. "There can be no doubt, Ashlynn Ketchum. _Do you know what the Pokemon Virus is?"_

"No! I don't!" Silence follows my impassioned shout, seeming somehow louder than my words ever could. Joy sighs. "What is it? Are- can it be cured? You're scaring the _shit_ out of me, guys."

They really were. If Mokey and Nova caught some kind of fatal disease, I don't think I could ever forgive myself. Even if I was wholly innocent, even if there was literally nothing I could do... I don't think I could follow my dream as a trainer, anymore. It's only been slightly longer than half a month since I met them, but they're already _mine,_ and I don't have it in me to just- move on. I can't just... shrug my shoulders and start over.

I imagine it. Misty moves on to Pewter, and I return to Pallet, a failure. No one knows, not Mom, Oak, or Gary, and I'm given that charmander I so dearly wanted, and told to just- pretend this month hadn't happened, and it's that day in the labs all over again. A fresh start, the way it should have been.

I shudder, sickened. Strange. I wanted it so badly, just this morning. Now, embraced with the fact that it just might happen, I can't think of anything that could possibly be worse.

"It can be cured," Jenny says, and I sag in relief.

Joy spears the officer with a look. "I thought we decided to verify her innocence, first."

"Look at her, Catherine," Jenny says, tilting her head towards me. "I think we have that verification, now. Besides. It's not like she'd shell out the money for a dose of pokérus and then inject it into a _magikarp._ That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard."

Nurse- Catherine, apparently, doesn't seem to accept what to me sounds like sterling – if baffling – logic. "Protocol is protocol for a _reason,_ Alexis. And it's entirely possible that she bought an already-infected magikarp instead of getting the virus and the fish separately. We already _know_ that this has happened. One of Rocket's suppliers was caught just outside of Mount Moon last month doing _that exact thing-"_

"I didn't, though!" I interject. I feel angry and hurt and _righteous,_ being accused of some nefarious thing I don't even understand, and it reminds me of Oak, and I just get even angrier.

"Yes, but- can you prove it?" Catherine asks. She tugs the pink wig off, freeing her mussed tresses of earthy-brown hair. "The Scanner claims the capture was made naturally and two weeks ago, but those can be spoofed. You don't have any badges or prior Center check-overs. You have no evidence or character witnesses-"

"But I do," I say, fierce satisfaction welling in my chest. "Misty Waterflower was there. She can tell you I'm innocent."

Jenny – Alexis – snorts. "Waterflower? Seriously? What would an ACE be doing catching magikarp with a greenhorn?"

I raise my chin defiantly. "Just ask her. She should still be in the 'Comm Room." With how much steel- and electric-types mess with radio waves, she'll need to be to make a call – and she would consider waltzing off without me to be a serious breach of her mentorship duties. I don't know if she actually _likes_ me, but she does seem at least halfway protective, and that's enough, for this.

Alexis rolls her eyes but strides out of the room, looking curious. It's only when the door closes that I realize I am now alone in a room with the woman who accused me of infecting my team with some agonizingly fatal disease.

I bite my lip, and fall onto the chair furthest from her with a huff. That gives me as large a privacy bubble as I can feasibly get while still maintaining clear sight lines of the door. I then amuse myself with counting the fluorescent lights in the ceiling and then the shiny spots they make on the polished floor, because I can't look at the PKRS poster without wanting to vomit and like hell am I going to look at Catherine.

She eventually sighs, though, and makes to apologize. "Look, kid. I didn't mean to impugn your honor as a trainer or anything-"

"Forget it," I say, cutting her off. Biting irritation can fill in the role of social courage, it seems. "This virus thing is pretty serious, yeah?" I say, and she nods. "Then you did right, if not by me then by my hypothetical abused pokémon. Just- don't expect me to like it."

She doesn't say anything, but, eventually, she nods.

It's to this strange ceasefire that Alexis returns with Misty in tow, the latter wearing a look of such pissed-off revelation that I never thought it could fit on an actual face before. "It all makes sense now," she says immediately, stalking to a center chair and violently sitting down on it. "Your 'karp, Sleek, your bat's use of Flash- _argh,_ I'm so _stupid!_ How didn't I see it?"

Feeling even more lost than usual, I exhale slowly. "Please explain."

"Okay. Just. One moment, I need to think." Misty chews on her inner lip, trying to put all her thoughts in order. Alexis bumps her shoulder with a hip and plops down next to her, and Misty says, "Yeah, go ahead."

"So, it goes like this." The police officer runs a hand through her shoulder-length, dark blue hair, revealing that it's not a wig at all but a shockingly good dye job. "About a decade ago, a scientist by the name of Charon discovered a microscopic life-form that, when injected into a pokémon, forms a seemingly symbiotic relationship with that pok **ém** on. As the theory goes, there's a universal power source that makes pokémon capable of the things they are – the life-form, which he called pok **é** rus, binds to this power source, feeds off of it, and stimulates its growth."

"In practice, this means that pokémon grow a lot stronger, a lot faster," Misty continued for her. "I explained all this to you with a budget metaphor, right? Well, think of it like taking twenty percent of your income and putting it into the bank, magic happens, and then immediately drawing twice as much back out. The pokémon evolves and gets stronger and faster and all that jazz a _lot_ quicker and more efficiently, with seemingly no side effects."

Alexis smiles ruefully. "I'm sure you can imagine what happens next."

"A golden age," I murmur. "The League would want _everyone_ who works for them to have access to this, to this super-steroid. With it, they could... I don't even know. A lot."

"There was a criminal organization that ruled the Kanto-Johto underworld, back then," Alexis explains. "And no, it wasn't Rocket. I wouldn't be surprised if you hadn't heard of them. Team Cross used to be omnipresent, but a League powered by pokérus crushed them within six months. There was... a lot of hope, back then."

Catherine snorts. "Only here. Fiore, Iro, and Sinnoh were much less excited about the Continent having a wonder-drug that empowered the entire Indigo League with literally no downside."

"And when that downside finally showed its ugly face, all those worries went away, so there's no point in mentioning them," Alexis shoots back. My eyes turn towards the PKRS poster, and Alexis' eyes soften. "Yeah. That's the downside."

"What... what happened?" If that happened to all the pokémon that were infected... and if _all_ of the League's pokémon were deliberately infected... oh, Arceus.

"The Virus ate away at every pokémon's mind. In the first stage, the infected get aggressive, violent- it was worrying, but the League mistook it for eagerness as their teams adapted to sudden power surge. After the six month mark, though, the pokémon started forgetting things, confusing friend from foe, and forgetting to hold back during even the most casual of spars. After a year..."

"...Death," I whisper. The word resounds like the crack of thunder, and I leap to my feet. "You have to cure them! They don't- my team doesn't deserve that. We'll train the honest way! Just- just get that virus out of them!"

"They're being purified already," the nurse, Catherine, soothes. Then she turns to Misty, Alexis doing the same, giving me the privacy I need to sink to the floor and bury my face in my lap. "Misty- tell us everything you noticed..."

I don't say anything for a long time.

* * *

 **The** next day, I wake up on a comfortable bed beneath a stable roof and miss the lake in the forest more than anything.

I stumble into the shower, put on a fresh-ish change of clothes, and vanish down the stairs in a haze. If anyone had asked me what color the walls were in the bedroom or if the water was hot or cold, I wouldn't be able to answer. If they had asked me how I got up to the bed last night in the first place, I wouldn't be able to answer that, either. The last thing I remember is passing out on the floor of the Center in a puddle of angst and cold fury.

Mokey and Nova were cured, as were Misty's Sleek, starmie, and staryu. As far as the Gym Leader, Nurse, and Officer were able to determine, they'd all caught it from my happy little zubat. A higher-level Scanner confirms their theory, showing that Nova had been in three different pokéballs before mine, stretching back almost four months. One of those must have infected him – likely the same one that managed to teach a baby zubat Flash, something that baffled Alexis and Catherine just as much as it did Misty.

But, the thing is- they can't determine _which_ trainer it was. Nova could have had pokérus for anywhere from one to four months. If it was just one, then he could have a solid fifteen, twenty years ahead of him still, assuming he makes crobat- which he _will._ If it was closer to four, however... he may die in as little as two years. The pokérus is gone, but it still gave him the foundation for the brain damage that will one day take his life.

To say I'm furious would be an immense understatement. Making the League is now my third goal, and surpassing Karen my second. My top priority is finding who hurt Nova like that... _and tearing him apart._

But, before I can do anything like that, I need to do right by my team. I need to make them strong. Strong enough to obliterate someone who deals in pokérus for a living.

It's going to be... difficult.

"Hello, Ash," Nurse Catherine says once I find myself crossing the ground floor of the Center. I don't recall how I got here. "Your team are now up-to-date on all of their inoculations and ready and raring to go!" She giggles kindly, and I smile back weakly. That she's now acting like the stereotypical Joy instead of the somewhat cynical teenager I saw beneath, yesterday, is both disappointing and weirdly relieving. I can't say why.

"That's good to hear," I say, and slip their pokéballs back into my bag. I immediately feel more comfortable in my own skin, like I were naked and a soft, warm blanket was just draped over my shoulders. "Can you, ah, do you know where Misty is, or...?"

"She's right outside, dear."

I nod, and, with my usual social grace, turn and leave the Pokemon Center. The chill of the early morning air nips at my ears, not unlike Nova would, and it's soothing, relaxing. To think – I had been so eager to be under the building's heated AC, yesterday. The thought seems almost heretical, now.

I find Misty leaning against the familiar blue-roofed shop, dressed in her usual shockingly oblivious clothes. I've never seen someone wear a swimsuit all day, every day, in _Autumn-_ let alone a bikini top. That she wears a throwaway top over it is her only saving grace, as are the cargo pants that complete the look. I'd make a mouthy comment, but it was always Leaf that knew her fashion. I've been wearing the same generic hat and jacket since I ran away from Pallet, changed only by the handful of pairs of pants that Alakazam fetched me.

Well, that, and, now doesn't really seem like the time for smart comments. I don't know where I stand with Misty, right now. I did infect her pokémon with an infamous and fatal virus, however accidentally. She didn't seem to hold it against me last night, but she was hardly going to tear my heart apart in front of a Nurse Joy and Officer Jenny. She's not the type to air dirty laundry, not in front of people she seems to respect.

"Ah... hi," I say, and wave shyly. Misty's lips quirk, and she pushes off the wall. "We headed for Pewter, now?"

Her smile dies. "I got an offer from one of the mudkip farms, down in Hoenn," she says. It's all I need to hear.

"...Oh." I want to scuff my foot, or cross my arms, or, or, _something,_ but I can't seem to move. My lips part to say something, but nothing comes out and they close with a _click._ It seems to echo, in the empty Viridian streets.

"Yeah. Oh." Misty adjusts her fancy pokétech bag's strap. I can't help but compare it to mine; two weeks old, half-empty and already falling apart. "One of their strongest swampert laid a clutch. One of them was a shiny. The manager offered it to me, at... a real steal. I'm worried he'll come to his senses and auction it off, live off of the proceeds for the rest of his life. It's the logical thing."

"The logical thing," I echo.

"Right. Shinies aren't any stronger than the rest of their kind, but having one brings a kind of renown all the same. I'll need that, if I want to impress Juan." She doesn't look at me.

"...Can I come?"

She smiles softly, and does. "I know you, Ash. You'd hate being dragged behind me everywhere. This is your first journey – make it alone. You'll learn more."

I don't hear any of that. All I hear is that it's not a 'Yes,' and I look down, hoping she doesn't see the glistening in my eyes.

"Look, Ash – Ashlynn." She rests a hand on my hair, musses it. "I haven't given you enough credit, have I? I apologize. I looked down on you, because you didn't come from a family like mine, because you didn't have money or experience or the kind of education I got. I judged you for not knowing about Rowan's training methods or pokérus, when the former is still so new and the latter has been systematically censured by the League across the past decade. That was wrong of me. I'm sorry."

I look up at her. "You... you shouldn't apologize. You've helped me so much."

"I've helped you all I can. Cliche as it is, if you keep following me around, you'll just become a flying-type mirror of me. You need to become your own trainer, do your own thing. I know you'll make me proud."

For the second time this morning, I look down so she won't see me cry. The feeling roiling in my chest this time, however, makes me dizzy for an entirely different reason.

"Look, I- you will meet people who will laugh off any mistakes you make, and say that it's just your first journey, a trial run, that what you do doesn't matter so long as you do better next year. That's bullshit. The decisions you make and the habits you pick up, this year, will determine the kind of trainer you will spend the rest of your life being. If you spend the next year just following me around, you will turn into me – and that'd be a real shame, 'cause even though I'm a mighty fine trainer if I do say so myself, and I _do,_ you..." She laughs, a pretty, proud thing. "You have some real potential, Ash. You don't need me, you don't need Oak- all you need is your self and your team. You'll surpass Karen one day, and all on your own. I know you will."

Neither of us speak, for a long minute. Me, because I can't – and Misty, because she has nothing left to say.

"Go up to Pewter anyway, yeah? Alexis called the Plateau last night, they're purifying Route One and the Tunnel of pokérus. It's going to be crazy. Just- take your journey at your own pace, catch whatever pokémon make you happy, and..." she runs a hand through her hair. "Fuck it, I'm rambling. Ash- don't do anything I wouldn't do, alright? And- take care."

Shadow drapes us in the blink of an eye, and I look up, just in time to see the immense pidgeot catch a heat spiral as it blocks out the sun. I look closer, and- I think someone's riding on top of it. My lips twitch.

"That's my ride. I expect to see you at the conference, alright, Ash?"

"I won't just be at the conference," I tell her. "I'm going to win it."

She laughs, but she doesn't say 'No,' either.

* * *

 **End of Chapter Two**

* * *

 _ **A/N:** The 'budget' metaphor is my way of explaining the EXP mechanic in a logical manner while simultaneously foreshadowing a later plot point that will color the entire story. Kudos to anyone who can guess it, I suppose. ...Well, that, and actual battles are more interesting to me than the pokémon version of weight-lifting, so we're not doing that._

 _Pokémon being limited to two types, though, is not something I'm going to try to justify, and for much the same reason as limiting them to four moves. It also ties into above mystery plot point, if in a different way. In practice, this means that gyarados is indeed a Dragon-type on top of Water, Flying, and trace amounts of Dark, while crobat is also Dark and slightly Ground._

 _Nurse Joy and Officer Jenny being cultural titles makes more sense to me than secret cloning facilities, which was option number two. Option number three was the canon explanation of 'really large families.' I mean, really? Lame._

 _PKRS is my explanation for why there are so few old trainers in canon, and why the Elite Four specifically seem to be made of youths. I considered going with the 'world war' explanation vis-à-vis Lt. Surge, but that'd be lazy. Also, this gets Ash out of the 'rookie' stage a bit earlier, while tying into the main themes of independence, privilege, and personal responsibility, establishing a future villain, prepping future battles and evolutions, and explaining why everyone isn't just doped up on PKRS the entire time._

 _Don't know when the next update will be – I considered not posting this until I had the arc finished, but I figure I kept y'all waiting long enough._

 _ **Question:** What are your headcanons for the pokéverse? _


End file.
